


Comfort

by chimaeracabra



Category: Loki - Fandom
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Loki - Freeform, OFC - Freeform, Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 10:27:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2021562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chimaeracabra/pseuds/chimaeracabra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You've been having a terrible week in school, so Loki decides to comfort you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Polia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polia/gifts).



> I told myself I wasn't writing at all until this class ends, but I wrote this rather spontaneously really late last night. Needed a goddamn break from reality.

             You had been so run down, you'd forgotten what it felt like to be comforted, to have slept for a full eight hours or more. As soon as you make it through the front door of the brownstone, you shut it, drop your backpack—which is heavier than anything you've ever carried due to the reams of paper you've written through for homework and a one-thousand page textbook—and sit on the floor to cry. It has only been _one_ week into the second session of physics and you are sure you'll fail—never mind the sleepless nights (weekends included) that you've been trucking on to get through every piece of material the professor is covering at a rate that you're sure is designed to flunk students out of the course. That quiz, you're sure, will kill your grade. Quizzes are only a mere _two_ questions—from problems worked out in class—and if you get just _one_ wrong, it's an automatic F. You've seen those words on a blank white page a number of times, worked through them yourself with effort, taken them to the tutors who wait around all day in that cold science building from 11am to 5pm Monday through Thursday. One quarter of the class even show up to the lectures, and you know you've been giving this your all.         

            You feel like giving up more than you have since college, but the only way you'll do that is when you've decided you don't really want to go to medical school. This is simply not an option, but as you sit there crying, your head swims with the sound of your heart beating for all the stress and anxiety. If only you could sleep for a day or two straight, maybe you'd stop making such _stupid_ mistakes in exam-mode. But if you sleep too much, you know you won't make it through all the material you need to, and you might as well not be taking the course. It's a trade-off, one where you feel like you just can't win. You knew before you even sat for the very first lecture that physics during the short summer semesters was a death sentence.

            By the time you start actually calming the hell down, you realize it's Thursday. That means no class tomorrow. But it doesn’t cheer you up an ounce when you remember again that the second you realized what was wrong with your calculations, the professor was already beginning to yell at students who had failed to hand their quizzes in when time was up. You rub your temples languidly and stare at the clock on the wall. It's five-thirty already? You hear the screen door pulling back, a slight laugh. The sound catches in the shells of your ears and lingers there even after it stops. When the tall, pale, Stygian-haired man pushes the inner door open, he jumps slightly and pauses in the doorway upon seeing you there.

            His emerald gaze meets you and the smile on his face drops immediately. You can just barely make out the voice of a coworker on the phone. Loki nods to himself, but you know he's no longer really listening to what the man on the other line is saying into his ear.

            "No…Yes, that was part of the report. We'll get through the rest of it before the meeting—I _promise_ you that, Jed. Stop stressing…yes. See you Tuesday. Bye."

At the same time as he pockets the thin white device inside the pocket of his black trousers and stoops down to your height, you wonder how he can stomach being dressed this way in ninety-degree weather. Then again, he did work in an air-conditioned building.

            "What happened?" he asks with such sickeningly sweet concern that it only fuels your tears again. He clearly cares enough to notice you there, suffering silently with devastation. Before you can answer, his cool fingers are in your hair as he holds your head to face him. You don't even wish to speak of the godforsaken quiz; there's nothing you can do about it now.

            "Brina?"

You merely shake your head. He moves with a mellifluence that matches the tone of his soothing voice, lapping you in one fell swoop right on the floor, caring not whether he scuffs his black loafers on the hardwood. You bury your tired mug into the pale blue twill dress shirt which he has already unbuttoned down a mark further than is professionally appropriate. His lips are now hurriedly and desperately kissing up your forehead and his fingers grip one of your shoulders, your flesh exposed beneath the lace strap of a tank top.

            Loki already knows what's bothering you. You need not have spoken a word.

            "I'm sure you did fine, Bri."

You sigh with relaxation and the tears come to a stop. It's amazing the work his voice can do. If only he'd been able to sit beside you while you took the quiz, murmuring terms of endearment and words to offer you comfort, perhaps you'd have avoided your mistakes.

            "I _didn't_ ," you grumble, a bit more defensively than you'd intended to.

            "How do you know tha—"

            "Because I just _couldn't_ do the first goddamned question. I knew _everything_ last night, and now it's…it's just _too_ late."

            "I thought you said the lowest quiz grade is dropped."

            "Yeah, but this has happened to me more than once already—"

            "Shhh."

And you shut up. You sit there only a moment more before getting up to go shower because you hate to be sweaty and greasy after a day spent harrowing through thermodynamics and electric field. Loki doesn’t try to cheer you up as you trudge up the stairs, taking your clothes off along the way. You spend at least thirty straight minutes in the shower, mulling over the quiz. You begin banging your head repetitively against your closed fist in frustration until it only makes your headache worse.

            When you stand in front of the mirror naked and dripping wet, you point directly in your own sopping face.

            "What is _wrong_ with you? There's _no reason_ you can't ace this course. You're doing all the fucking work. _Step it up_."

It only makes you angrier to look at your frustrated face and think about how _stupid_ the professor's going to think you are for getting that simple calculation wrong. It doesn't add up; you're certain that you work ten times harder than ninety-nine percent of the people in every class you've ever taken. Three-quarters of the class doesn't even show on a weekly basis. You decide for a moment to quit punishing yourself; you wouldn't have made dean's list in your undergraduate days if you weren't smart…But it just doesn't feel like you're good enough. The rate at which you slaved over torque and momentum, circular motion, entropy, there's no reason you shouldn't be acing everything thrown your way.

            You know that the lack of sleep weakens your performance, but you have to be in class by 8:15 in the morning. There's no time for sleep. As you shove your legs into a pair of pajama pants and pull on a t-shirt, the scent of something cooking downstairs meets your nose. He's already trying to soothe your pain, and you hobble downstairs in your wilted state to find the pale prince standing at the stove, his sleeves rolled back to expose his delicately strong arms, the wrist flicking as he sautés Emeril style, shirt unbuttoned so that his marble-esque torso is at your viewing pleasure.

            A dash of black pepper flies into the pan and he turns to smile at you sympathetically. You lean back in the doorway and cross your arms, slowly beginning to feel a bit less awful.

            "Let's eat dinner. And then I'm putting you to bed because you have to sleep."

You smile weakly. At the table, there's already a tall glass of iced tea waiting for you. You sit down and lie your head on the table glumly. The sound of Loki moving about the kitchen is music to your ears, and as each minute passes, you forget a bit more of the equations you're constantly reciting in your head. You literally fall asleep there, as uncomfortable as the position is. The feeling of something physically lifting your head up off the table causes you to awaken with a start. You jump and gasp, glancing around frantically, only to realize it's Loki's hands cupping your heavy skull from behind, and in front of you is a steaming plate of some colourful medley of vegetables and scrambled eggs. The aroma causes you to think it must be ambrosia itself.

            You reach for the fork that's already waiting on the plate and blow frantically before putting a healthy portion into your mouth. You hadn't been eating properly either. There's barely time in the morning to get ready as it is, and you've been living off of fruit cups and granola bars from eight in the morning till five in the afternoon. His laugh sends a chill up and down your spine, and you blush when he tells you calmly to pace yourself. When he sits beside you to help himself, you can't help wolfing down the mix, forgetting to blow before you chomp and earning a good burn to the roof of your mouth.

            His eyes are wide with concern as he watches you, chewing slowly. You start to slow down even more.

            "What is it?" You finally ask.

            "You've got Prada bags under your eyes, Brina. You can't keep doing this to yourself."

            "Well, I'm glad my sleep deprivation is pretty and expensive. I don't have time to sleep, Loki. I really don't. I _have_ to stay on top of the work. If I don't, I might as well not even be taking this class. I might as well have just taken that money and gone on a trip to Vegas. Please don't."

            "Mmm-mmm," he says with some reprehension , shaking his head, "And you're not this snappish when you've been sleeping well."

You sigh and continue to eat. Loki tucks a chunk of obsidian locks behind his pale ear. The way the evening sun shines in through the window on him makes him look like a dreamy painting that you could just stare at for hours. You start to smile.

            "What is it?" he asks, returning the grin.

            "You take such good care of me…I don't think I deserve you."

            "Nonsense, love. Finish your plate. I didn't even see you pack a lunch last night."

You laugh a moment through your nose, and when you're done, you make your way into the den to sit on the couch and watch Family Feud until your food baby goes away. Normally, you'd watch while you ate, and then get straight on some homework or a lab report, but screw it. You aren't getting up early tomorrow and there's no point in working yourself half to death at this moment. Loki pulls off his shirt and pants, folds them neatly over the shoulder of the couch, and parks himself beside you, bringing your legs to rest across his lap. It's too warm to be dressed so nicely. As you gaze at the screen, you find yourself feeling a little bit better as Steve Harvey cracks another joke regarding a contestant's answer to a survey question about the sorts of objects found in a kitchen that a wife could throw at her husband.

            Loki's laughing eases your mood even more, and as he massages into your calves deeply, you can't even remember what that question on the quiz was. You drink more water to hydrate yourself and run upstairs to grab your toothbrush while the commercials are on. At some point during a fast money round, you manage to doze off again. The next time you awaken, you're in bed, under a long snowy arm, the hand resting tiredly at your back. You can't believe that the sun is up. Did you _really_ just go to bed and stay asleep for more than four hours? Your body feels less tense and your headache is actually gone. Loki's sleeping eyes run back and forth beneath the lids, the long lashes moving in tandem. You grin and wonder what he's dreaming about. He holds you a little tighter, unaware of his own actions.

            You watch him all of five minutes before feeling your eyes grow heavy again, his even breathing lulling you back to sleep. When you wake up again, he's caressing you, waiting expectantly to watch your eyes flutter open. You smile at him and say hello. His teeth are a blinding white when he smiles in response. You finally realize how far inside your panties his hand is resting, the large palm cupping nearly your entire left butt cheek. You laugh and he laughs in response.

            "I dreamt that you got an A," he says supportively, looming his fingers through your hair.

            "Well, I hope it comes true," you say almost blankly.

            "Even if you fail, I'll still love you. It can't get much worse, Brina. You're my baby."

You blush madly, even more so when he maneuvers atop you with a salient moan. Your panties are off in a flash and his fingers find your opening instinctively.

            "Why don't you just let me in and forget all about that shit for now," he breathes, pressing his lips to your forehead. You close your eyes and let him explore you. He does this gently, the length of his digits still surprising you when you feel them circle deeply, the tips angling forward against your most sensitive spots. You shiver and his lips linger on your closed eye.

            "Just a moment and I'll make you feel much better."

He breathes into your neck and you spread your legs obediently as his thumb grazes your slowly swelling bud.

            "Don't worry. You'll do just fine," Loki breathes, reassuring you all the while as he kisses your breasts, having pushed back your t-shirt to get to them. He stops teasing you and grabs hold of your waist, worshipping your chest and neck until you find yourself leaning up against him in heat.

            "Patience, pet," he whispers.

You beg him to take you, merely wishing to relieve any residual stress from the week. You don't bother waiting a second longer before reaching down and grabbing his cock through his boxers. It's already hard, and you can tell without looking how ready he is. Loki's breath catches in his throat and he wrenches off the article restricting his need. You help to guide him directly inside of you, gasping at the expansion you feel against your insides. Every time, it still takes you by surprise, and as he fills you, stretches the soft, wet flesh, you grip his chest and gasp, moan. He pauses to allow you the proper time to shift your hips as you please and accommodate him with ease.

            "Just couldn't wait, could you?" he asks in a salacious tone that only makes you wetter. His enormity almost overwhelms you as you grab a hold of his shoulders and accurately grind up against him from your spot on the mattress. He laughs and the blood rushes to your face. He rocks his hips gently, comfortingly, until you're aching for him to be rabid and relentless with you, but he doesn't thrust any faster than to make firm and slow undulations. The pressure climbs inside of you and he hits a point inside that nearly brings you to climax with every inward propulsion.

            "Lo…Loki," you squeak, surprised by the pitch of your own voice.

            "Yes?" he responds so sweetly, you're sure you would have tasted sugar had you pressed you lips to his.

            "Am I hurting you?"

You respond by shoving your waist up and causing him to thrust again. Your eyes roll even while closed.

            "Oh," he responds knowingly, and you can tell he's smiling as he begins to bear down into you harder, until the air is filled with the thwacking sound of your flesh against one another. He doesn’t stop until you're clawing into his back, shivering your whole body over, knees quivering with the magnitude of your orgasm. You feel Loki release inside of you, a friendly flow of warmth that thickly and quickly fills your depth, the force so great that it begins to seep out past him. His moans and his sharp face add to your pleasure as you open your eyes to watch his mouth fall agape with utterances of appreciation at how tight you are, how much you make him come, how beautiful you look lying there, the list could go on. Your aura drips with satisfaction as he continues to give a dozen more gentle thrusts, slowly decreasing in volume inside of you.

            The two of you have made a mess of the sheets, but as you turn satisfactorily to your side, all you feel is comfort. Your heart rate slows gradually as Loki lies beside you mesmerized and spent as he rubs your shoulder, your hip, your arm, anything he can get his hands on. You can still feel every ounce of him inside you, as if he's flowing through your veins themselves. You needed every second of it, and he knew it from the moment he walked through the front door to find you crying on the floor.

            "You're going to be just fine," he says. And you believe it. He's all the reassurance you needed.


End file.
